The Curl, The Dot, and the WHAT!
by Erizaveta
Summary: Denmark was bored. Like, REALLY bored. And who suffers? Poor Norway gets harrased. But there's a secret about that certain curl and dot of Norway's... and Denmark learns it the hard way. Please review!
1. Chapter 1

**Hello, people who are kind enough to read this crappy fanfic! WHOA WHOA, STAY WHERE YOU ARE! Don't press the back button yet! See, this little fanfic was the first fanfic I ever wrote, so… ya know, this sad little collection of words was shoved to a corner of my mind and I completely forgot about it. When I posted up my Revolution story (I'm still sad about the episode), I saw it and was like** ** _, hm, maybe I'll post it up later._**

 **Yep. I forgot about it.** ** _Again._**

 **Then I wrote my second fanfic, and I finally noticed it, sitting at the corner of my thumb drive, covered in cobwebs and weeping, and I pitied it and decided to mention it in my second fanfic. Then when one of my reviewers said yes, I would like to read it, and I was like, well! Okay, I post it up then! And… tadah! But still, this fanfic I wrote quite a long time ago, so let's just say it isn't as good as I would like. Although I like Norge's reaction when—whoops! Spoiler! Read on to see what happens!**

 **Enjoy!**

 **-Erizaveta**

.o.O.0.O.o.

Denmark fidgeted. The living room of Norway's house was quiet, as it was already the end of the Nordics' meeting, but apparently they wanted to hang out at Norway's for a bit for 'bonding time'. But for Denmark…

Either he was just plain hyper, or he was hooked up on enough caffeine and sugar to give a heart attack to a chair.

It's probably not the latter.

Denmark looked around the long table. Norway was reading a thick leather-binded book, lost in his world of gods-know-where. He assumed that it was his book of magic, or fairytales, or something in between. Beside him sat Iceland, patting his puffin as he tried to peek into Norway's book. Said person then irately shifted further from Iceland, his little floating curl bobbing in the air (that _thing_ literally defied gravity),leaving a dejected-looking Iceland behind. Finland was listing down a whole list (approximately five meters, guessed Denmark) of scribbles, muttering to Sweden. Sweden listened, giving a quiet 'hn' occasionally.

Denmark stretched tiredly. Outside, he may be sitting in his seat, but inside his head he was practically doing back flips and cartwheels and whatnot. He wanted some fun! Is that too much to ask for? He finished his cup of beer in one gulp. " _Hej_ , guys."

Everyone's heads turned towards him. That bobbing little strand of hair of Norway's caught his eye again. "Hm?" Iceland said. Norway closed his book, his curl jumping in the air again.

Denmark's eye twitched. Either it was from annoyance at that little hellion or he just drank to much alcohol, he was not sure, but it was starting to get into his nerve. "What is it, Danmark?" Came Norway's deadbeat question.

 _Gods,_ does Norway sound _anything else_ but deadbeat? The little flick of his platinum blonde hair caught his gaze, _again_. Denmark then remembered that he called out to the Nordics. _What_ is fun? He racked his brain for a suggestion. An idea popped into his mind, flashing like a neon bulb. A mischievous grin slowly spread across his face, spreading from ear to ear.

"Norge," he started, pointing at the curl, "what is that annoying curl on your hair? It literally _defied_ physics! What is that?"

Norway stiffened visibly. Iceland saw it as well and patted his brother's shoulder. "You okay, Noregur?"

The Norwegian flinched, but quickly regained his composure, his eyes dead as usual. "I-It's nothing."

Denmark raised his eyebrows. Aha, Norway never stutters. Something is up.

Finland put his list away and said, "Tanska's right. What's that curl? It's floating—"

"It's nothing!" Norway interrupted angrily, his face slightly red and his voice an octave higher.

"Are you sure?" Denmark pressed on, a devious smirk forming on his lips. He thought of an idea to tease Norway. Could Norway's curl act the same way as the Italy brothers'…? "Then can I touch it?" He stood up from his chair and advanced towards the Norwegian like a predator stalking its prey.

Norway's face turned a shade paler and a shade redder. He growled, "Don't even try it, Danmark." He hurriedly stood up from his chair and backed away when he realized that Denmark wasn't going to stop. Denmark's curiosity piqued. Norge was literally emotionless, it's impossible to catch Norway out of his stoic façade. But now the Norwegian's face was slightly red, and had a tint of fear and embarrassment. Norway stumbled backwards towards the wall, still trying to be stoic, but completely failing.

The now viciously grinning Denmark slowly advanced towards Norway, while the other three Nordics stood watching. Iceland's eyes were almost wider than saucers, mouth open as he watched his usually emotionless brother quail at the sight of Denmark. Finland and Sweden was staring at Norway intently, save Sweden whose eyes were uninterested, but watching.

Denmark tried to hide his ever-growing smirk, "Is your curl like the Italians?" _I heard that Norge is a very prude person… Should I test that out?_

 _Crap, crap, crap…_ Norway thought as he scooted backwards. _Why am I so unlucky?_ He caught Iceland's eye. _"Help me!"_ He tried to pass that message telepathically. No such luck. He simply looked at him with a cocked eyebrow. He stared cross-eyed at the ever-approaching hand of Denmark's, just inches away from his curl. Holy fairies and trolls and vampires and all things magical, how he _willed_ that hand to _just get away from—_

 _Thwack!_

Did… Did that _drittsekk_ just-?

It was too late. Denmark had captured his curl in his vice-like grip. A strange feeling washed over him. Norway's knees went weak. His face felt like it was submerged in boiling water. He leaned against the wall shakily for support, barely noticing Denmark's grin or the other Nordics' shocked expressions.

From his half-lidded eyes he saw a couple of fairies trying to pull Denmark's shirt to force him away from their friend. But the fairies were simply too weak and they spiraled down to the ground when they lost their grip on the Dane's shirt.

"D-Denmark. W-What are y-you d-doing…?" Norway breathed out, face growing redder every second, trying but failing to look annoyed. He saw Iceland's eyes widen in surprise; probably from the fact that Norway had shown another expression other than boredom.

"Oh! Oh!" He heard Iceland shout. "Noregur's curl is the same as those Italians! What do they call them…?"

"Aha!" Norway's blood went cold. "His erogenous zone!"

Norway glowered at his little brother, _"Betrayer."_ Denmark's grin grew even wider.

"Why don't we try an experiment…?"Before Norway, or anyone for that matter, could stop him, he tugged at the curl.

Denmark tugged at the curl.

 _Tugged_ at it.

The wave of nauseatic and unpleasant (at least for Norway) feeling washed over him again, causing him to moan and his knees to buckle. He slid down the wall, panting like a dog, Denmark still clinging on to his curl like a leash. "S-Stop it D-D-Denmark… W-W-What are y-you doing?" He moaned, his body being immobilized and being forced to suffer without being able to throttle that stupid Dane to death _. Unless he was stupid enough to do_ that… Norway thought.

Denmark thought, eyes still fixated on his poor, poor, Norway, _Why don't we have some fun?_ He saw a little dot floating beside the curl. By instinct he reached out with his other and squeezed it. The little dot gave out a squeak.

Norway's face became redder than any other tomato Denmark, or the other Nordics had ever seen. He stopped speaking, now too incoherent and incohesive to speak words. His half-lidded eyes closed further, now three-fourth closed. A soft moan escaped his lips as his shoulders sagged, his breathing becoming hitched every few seconds. His eyes rolled into his head.

Denmark laughed deviously, ignoring the other Nordics' pleas to give the Norwegian a break. He reached forward and squeezed the dot and pulled the curl at the same time, expecting Norway to become unconscious or something.

Nope.

Utterly, profoundly nope.

In that split second, Norway thought victoriously, _YES! THAT DRITTSEKK IS STUPID ENOUGH! DIE, DANMARK!_

"STOP IT DENMARK!" Norway screeched. His normally emotionless eyes flared with anger, face still flushed in embarrassment, as he practically did an Olympic jump and landed on Denmark on the stomach, literally straddling him. The other Nordics scampered out of their chairs and pressed their backs against the wall, eyes wide because _they had never seen Norway like-_

"OW!" Denmark yelled as the breath was knocked out of him. Norway then began punching his stomach, his body radiating a dangerous aura that warns everybody to keep away from him or they would meet their deaths.

"NORWAY. SAID. STOP!" He screamed as he punched the poor Danish on the face with each word. "DIE. AT. NORWAY'S. HANDS!"

" _Ó skít_!" Iceland yelped in shock, stumbling backwards. "He's speaking in third-person! He's mad!"

"WONDERFUL OBSERVATION, ICE!" Denmark shrieked, trying to crawl away from the seething Norwegian. "HELP!"

Norway, now radiating an aura the same as Russia's when Denmark managed to escape the wrath of his, cooed dangerously, "Sweet, sweet, Denmark. Don't run away from Norway _. Ikke løpe vekk fra Norge… hm?"_ He pounced forward and managed to land on his stomach, effectively hindering Denmark from running away. He gripped Denmark's neck and leaned closer, his wide, almost mad eyes just centimeters away from Denmark's scared ones. "Bad, bad Denmark. Shouldn't have done that to Norway, hm?"*

"Have Norway ever acted like this?!" Finland squeaked as he hid behind Sweden. Sweden, apparently unaffected by the seething Norway, shrugged and hugged Finland, earning embarrassed protests from the Finnish man just as Denmark's face went purple from lack of air.

"No!" Iceland cried out, "S-Stop him!" He shoved the cowering puffin off his shoulder and by instinct, he lunged forward and his fingers curled around the now quivering curl floating beside his brother's head.

 _Crap!_ He thought, panicked when he thought he had angered Norway tenfold. He stepped away with the curl still in tow, unintentionally pulling it.

The effect was immediate. Before Norway could suffocate Denmark into his death, his grip on Denmark's neck loosened, face boiled up red and with a soft moan, his eyes rolled back into his head and he keeled over, his body landing on Denmark's.

Everyone froze as their eyes landed on Denmark and Norway. Denmark could've stared back at them, but now he was too shocked to move, staring cross-eyed at the unconscious Norwegian, his face redder than a tomato.

Because Norway's lips met Denmark's.

.o.O.0.O.o.

When Norway finally regained consciousness, none of them told him what had happened. Denmark seemed especially out-of-character mad too. For some reason Iceland was begging Denmark to forgive him, and Finland and Sweden were gaping at him, well, as much as Sweden gapes. What happened? The last thing he remembered was punching that _drittsekk_ and then... What?

Norway assumed that everyone was just shaken by his outburst, since he had never shown that type of anger before. At least, not after the Viking Ages, when some random dude had snipped off his curl, but that was a different story.

Denmark deserved that beating. He probably would stay away from his curl now, since he now knew that his dot was actually a trigger-happy spot. But _what_ had happened…?

Norway just shrugged it off, thinking that he, in the fit of anger, lost it and fainted. Nothing happened. Nothing shocking. Nothing weird.

How wrong he was.

.o.O.0.O.o.

 ***Norway strangling Denmark is like Chibi!Russia strangling Chibi!Prussia.**

 **Crappy story have a crappy ending… OTL I have no idea how that kiss came about. It's just… there. Haha btw DenNor is not my OTP, USUK is. LoL Although I** ** _do_** **ship them… just a little bit.**

 **How was it like? Is it funny enough? I hope so! Um… I kinda realized that at the first Author's Note I literally wrote a biography of this little fanfic here, so if you kinda of got irritated, I'm sorry! I just have the tendency to rant on and on and on… yep, you get the idea. *Looks at the fanfic like how a scientist looks at a rare specimen* Hmm… It's really short. Oh damn it it's so short! OTL WHAT AM I DOING TO MYSELF *Breaks down and cry***

 ***Watches the Davie episode* *Breaks down and cry again, screaming "WHY IS THE WORLD SO CRUEL!"***

 **Ahem.**

 **I would like to thank all those wonderful people who had kindly reviewed, favorited, and followed my stories! You have no idea how happy I was when I read your reviews, regardless short or long. I was squealing and grinning like a maniac and covering my mouth and rolling on the bed staring at the reviews and my cousin thought I was having some mental problem or something. You people are too kind! I DON'T DESERVE THIS! *Breaks down and cry again***

 **Ahem. Again.**

 **All and all, thank you for your reviews! I genuinely hope you enjoy my fanfics! Please, as usual, review! They really make my day! Thank you!**

 ** _Farvel!_**

 **-Erizaveta**


	2. Chapter 2

**Hello! I'm very sorry for not uploading sooner, but I'm going overseas tomorrow and there wouldn't be any internet there, so I wouldn't be uploading any stories soon... *Cries***

 **But no worries! I'll be continuing to write more while I am there (Microsoft Word don't need internet, LOL) and maybe, when I have the free time, I may be able to binge-upload!**

 **Haha, dream on, Erizaveta.**

 **Umm, sorry for this rushed update, I was in a hurry to upload this and I didn't have enough time to finish revising it and everything, so this may be a little bland. *Cries aagain***

 **I may be back by... 1st January? Yeah.**

 **See you wonderful people soon!**

 **-Erizaveta**

Norway ducked as an enemy Viking swung his broadsword at his head, missing by just an inch from slicing the Norwegian's head, strands of blonde hair floated to the ground as he stumbled backwards and glowered at his attacker. His back-length hair swung from side to side, a small chunk of it was obviously chopped off. Norway felt a small spark of anger, gripping his pathetically small sword and crouching in a defensive position, glowering at the Viking.

The large-built Viking 's eyes burnt as he ran forward to pummel Norway to death. The Nation bit back a squeal as he leaned precariously backwards, his sword clattered to the side, arms flailing as he tried to regain his balance, his lithe body being pulled back by his heavy armor.

When the sword was inches from his pale and terrified face, someone behind him roared and the enemy stopped, eyes wide, and collapsed sideways, his sword clattering beside him, a pool of blood gathering at his head, where a huge gash ran across his neck.

Shocked, the young Viking forgot about balancing and hit the dry ground with a soft 'oof!'. He looked up, praying that it would not be some other enemy going to kill the weaker Norwegian; after all, he just started fighting a little over a year ago. The young Viking swallowed a sigh of relief when he saw who was standing over him.

His father Scandinavia loomed over him, anger evident on his face. "Stand up." He ordered as he tightened his grip on his axe and spun around, running straight into the midst of battle again.

Picking himself up, Norway grabbed the dead Viking's sword and unintentionally stumbled by the weight of the sword, which was almost taller than he was. Norway frowned as he dropped the sword, looking for something lighter.

It was near noon, and the barren land was in utter chaos. Vikings fought against Vikings, swinging their weapons and throwing fists at their opponents. Multiple bodies, dead or unconscious, laid on the dry dirt, the battle raging over them. His half-brothers, Denmark and Sweden, were fighting against a dozen of bigger-sized Vikings, although they seemed to be having the upper hand. Denmark's and Sweden's faces were covered in dirt and sweat, scratches and blood, anger and excitement evident on their faces as they killed the Vikings one by one. A Viking's sword flew forward and smacked Denmark's head straight on. The Dane crumbled onto the ground. Before he could worry about the Dane, Norway looked to his right. Scandinavia was heading towards his brothers, seemingly going to help them.

A small beam of light caught Norway's eyes. He turned his head and much to his relief, there was a thin but sharp-looking sword lying beside a seemingly dead Viking. The problem was, it was in the middle of another group of fighting Vikings. He shot a quick glance around, and ran forward, weaving between the Vikings' legs, leaning down to grab this sword.

Just when his fingers was a centimeters from curling round the sword hilt, the Viking' s arm suddenly shot forward and grabbed a chunkful of Norway's hair, and pulled hard. In that short moment, Norway felt his hidden curl being squished between the Viking's hand and his face turned red. The Viking's other hand grabbed the sword and swung at Norway's head.

A yell escaped his throat, and Norway, still red in the face, spun around so that his was facing the Viking, and leaned backwards so much he fell. He could feel the individual strands of hair ripping from his scalp ripping from his scalp, and before he could cry out in pain, the sword went through.

It chopped off his hair.

Along with his curl.

Norway's face turned so red it was almost purple, a moan-like cry escaped his throat, and he stumble back, knees shaking. His heart pounded in his ears, his stomach churning. The unsettling feeling in his gut suddenly boiled into a whole bucket of fury, and he screamed.

Leaping forward, he seized the sword from the Viking's clutches, not even noticing that the sword stabbed his hand and he yanked it backwards, the sword flying into his hand. It only stung a little through the haze of anger. "NOOO!" He gave a screech and cut of the Viking's head, not even flinching when blood spurted from the wound onto his face.

He spun around, eyes wide with barely contained madness, and gave an eerie chuckle, running towards where there was the most number of Vikings gathered, which was where his brothers were.

Giving a battle cry—or shriek—the young Viking leapt towards the closest Viking and swung viciously, smoothly chopping off his head and spun around, eyeing another Viking to kill. Without hesitation, Norway ran forward and stabbed the enemy through the chinks of armor.

He fell dead a second later.

Norway continued killing everyone on sight, only having enough coherence to differentiate between ally and enemy. Before long, there were no more enemies except one. Norway glowered at the Viking, blood streaming freely from his wounds he had obtained from fighting. He panted, "You…cannot escape…from…" He leapt forward, "Norway's hands!" He swung his sword, cutting off his head, and stumbled, but remained on his feet. The decapitated body fell backwards onto a pool of blood with a nauseating squish.

He stood at the same position for a while, taking pained breaths, his blood dripping onto the ground. He slowly turned, and stopped when he saw Sweden's and Scandinavia's shocked faces, Denmark still out cold on the ground. His grip on his sword weakened, and the weapon clattered onto the ground.

"Sve—" His knees buckled and he blacked out.

==N==

When Norway finally came to, he expected to be facing the sky, instead he woke up to the leathery roof of his father's tent. He seemed to be lying on a bed, and no one was around. A throbbing pain started pounding insistedly on his head, and he moaned as he reached out with his uninjured to feel his sore head.

His hand froze as he grasped empty air beside his shoulder.

Fear wound around his heart like a snake. Oh. Please. _No_. He scrambled up onto his bed as he feverishly felt the side of his head. His hair was short. Terrifying thoughts ran across his still-foggy mind as he raked his fingers through his hair, trying to feel for a particular piece of hair. His breathing became haggard as seconds ticked by and not a single curl was caught between his fingers. _No no no no no!_ His body started shaking in horror as his fingers sped up, almost ripping his hair off.

" _Nei!_ " He screeched as he leapt out of bed. His bandaged legs shook but he still held his ground. He saw a mirror at the corner of his eye and ran towards it savagely. His heart holding on to the last string of hope, he looked into the mirror.

 _Who… Is… This?!_

The person that met him wasn't what he looked like! He never had short hair! Norway's eyes flitted across the mirror, panic palpating his heart. Where was his curl? He choked on his breath when he realized the truth.

His curl… was chopped off.

Hands clenching into fists in a haze of utter horror, he stumbled backwards with a strangled gasp. His curl was chopped off. _His curl was chopped off_. He vaguely heard someone shout and grab his shoulders, but he was too terrified to think straight. Only one sentence was repeated in his mind.

My curl was chopped off.

 _My curl was chopped off._

"—orge! Norge!"

Said Norwegian looked up with glazed and tearful eyes into bright blue eyes. It was Denmark. "D-D-Denmark." He whispered, his voice cracking.

"What's wrong? Panicking about your new hairstyle? Haha! It looks better on you! I helped you trim your hair when you were uncon—"

Norway's eyes widened in horror. Why shouldn't he worry about his chopped off curl?! "I GOT EVERY REASON TO WORRY!" He screamed at Denmark before he violently shoved Denmark and skedaddled outside into the battlefield. The battlefield was bathed in the blood-red light of the setting sun. The barren land was littered with upturned dirt, blood, and blonde hair.

His hair.

Norway agitatedly scanned the battlefield, trying to spot where there was the most amount of hair. He spotted a small mound towards his right. Stumbling, he ran to the pile of hair and keeled onto his knees, hands promptly sifting through his hair. After a few seconds, a small but prominent curl appeared in the midst of yellow hair.

He grabbed the piece of hair like how a beggar would do with a loaf of bread and cupped it in his hand, a single tear of relief dripping down his eye. He held the curl close with shaky hands and murmured a chant in Old Norse. His hands started to glow in a soft blue light and the light encased the curl, the magic slowly trailing towards the side of his head. The curl twitched and started floating towards his head, stopping when the curl was an inch adjacent from his hair. A tiny dot appeared beside the curl. After all the magic had dispersed, Norway breathed a sigh of relief. The he heard a call from behind him.

Turning around, he saw Denmark running towards him, with Sweden trailing behind.

"Heeeeyyyyy! Norge!" Denmark hollered, "Why did you run away!"

"Shut up." Norway snapped when the Dane was within earshot, "It's all your fault."

"Whaaat?!" Denmark whined, "Why?" He paused and focused on Norway's curl. He curiously pointed at it. "Hey, Norge. What's that curl?"

Norway gave a death glare that could kill corpses a hundred times over, "Shut up."

"Why?" His whiny voice was getting annoying.

" _Shut up!"_

 **...I warned you. It was bland, wasn't it? I hope there aren't any typos... I'm so sorry!Right now I'm literally half asleep and have bags under my eyes. Haha...**

 **Please review! The reviews will motivate me to trudge on and continue on my stories...**

 **Bye... Zzzz**

 **-Erizaveta**


	3. Chapter 3

**Helloooooo everyone! *Nervous laugh* And I made quite a lot *cough* little *cough* of progress! Ehh, so I used quite a lot of 3G(so much money wasted) to see what are the reactions to the previous chapter, and one very faithful reviewer, Vanilla-Tsun (Thanks for being so supportive!) wanted another chapter, so yeah! But sorry if this is very short, because I ended the story already, but ya know, this chapter is dediated to Vanilla-Tsun for being such a great supporter! Thank youuuuu! I'm sorry for the shortness of this chapter (it's not even 1000 words long… *Emo corner*), it's beause I have no idea what to write! But I hope this is okay~ It can also be read as a epilouge~**

 **And please, I beg you, go to my profile and read my 'Questions' part, I REALLY NEED HELP I DON'T KNOW WHAT TO DO!**

 **-Erizaveta**

"Noooorgeeeee!"

A dreadfully familiar and annoying voice reached the Norewegian in question. Trying unsuccessfully to supress his sigh, Norway turned around, only to be glomped by a certain Dane. It wasn't from the surprise of Denmark hugging him, but the force of the impact that brought the two Nations crashing down onto the floor of Denmark's house.

Norway laid still for a moment, trying to catch his breath back. He hissed in annoyance as he tried to push the Dane away from his body. Didn't he know that the weight of his body is crushing him? Heck, he just came over to Denmark's house to attend the Nordics' World Meeting, or else he would not even consider—scratch that, he would not even think of—going to his house. "Get off." He roughly pushed the Dane off his body, and much to his annoyance and irritation the hyper Nordic clung on like glue.

"I said get off!" He snapped as he roughly pushed the Dane away. Denmark, with a small squeal like the century-year old child he was, rolled off Norway and landed with a loud thud beside Norway.

His head pressed onto Norway's curl.

Norway let out a choked gasp, face tomato-red, and turned to face Denmark with glazed eyes. Norway swallowed with diffuculity and managed to cough out, "I h-hate y-you b-b-bastard—" before Denmark let out a scream of shock.

"OH MY GOD NORGE I'M SO SORRY!" Denmark scrambled upright, remembering his painful ordeal when he had pulled on Norway's curl (he still had no idea why) and his hand brushed against the curl.

 _Ooooh jævla._

Denmark let out a very unmanly sream when Norway let out a (battle) cry and lauched himself at the Denmark, both ofthem hitting the ground again. "I'M SORRY NORGE!" Denmark cried out as Norway pressed his arm against his throat, effectively cutting off Denmark's air. Norway started glowing ghastly, a dangerous blue arua surrounding him. Norway smiled maniacally at Denmark's purple face.

"Bad boy, Denmark, bad boy." Norway's voice was wispy, with a minute amount of seductiveness. Denmark's heart pounded despreately against his chest, as if wanting to jump out of his chest. Norway chuckled as Denmark let a gasp, desperate for oxygen. "Why would you do that to Norway, hm?" The blue aura intenstified, and Norway pressed his arm harder against Denmark's throat, almost crushing his windpipe.

"I'M SORRY!" Denmark flailed, flingling his arms around in an act of blind desperation, black spots dancing before his eyes, and managed to hit Norway's head with the force of a sledgehammer, and the Norwegian fell sideways a moment later, unconscious.

Clutching his throat, choking in precious air, blinking tears away, Denmark, for the moment, did not notice that Norway was unconscious, nor hear that the door was opening, revealing three very shocked Nordics.

"Denmark!" Finland cried out in surprise, running forward to assist the Dane.

"No—Norge…" Denmark gasped out, "Norge str…angled me!" He coughed before he went limp and blacked out.

.o.O.0.O.o.

When Denmark woke up, he realised that he was lying no his bed, with Finland and Sweden staring at him. Icealdn was nowhere to be found. Rubbing his head in confusion, he sat up.

"Are you okay?" Finland asked,and Denmark nodded. "Norway strangled you, after all."

"I know." Denmark grumbled, rubbing his neck where Norway had pressed his arm against, which now had a bruise, "Geez, that guy can be real scary when he's mad." A pause. "Where's Icey and Norge?"

"They're in 'nother room. Norg' 's still unconscious. Island's with him."

Denmark was sinlent for a while. A brilliant idea came into his mind. He grinned broadly. "We can pull that curl if we want to beat someone up! Then Norge can beat him up big time!"

"Er…" Finland exchanged looks with Sweden. "That's… Not a good idea."

"Why? It's brilliant!"

"D'nmark, don't y' ever wonder why Norg' acts like that whenever y' pull that?"

Another pause. "Err… No."

Sweden sighed. It's going to take a while…

After that, it was needless to say that Denmark now always keep at least two meters away from Norway's curl.

 **…**

 **…**

 **…**

 **Crappy ending. *Emo corner* So… this is the ending to this story, I guess. Forgive the crappy ending. I was having writer's block. To be honest I was kinda sad for this story to end but it has to be done, right?**

 **I want to thank all my reviewers, favouriters(Is that a word?), followers, and all my readers for being so great! I didn't know that this story, which was, if you didn't read my author's note(or rant) at the first chapter, that this used to be abandoned, and this story actually exceeded my expectations. Thank you! Please revieww! Can we have 10 reviews?!**

 **Do it! Thank youuuuuuu!**

 **Au revior!**

 **-Erizaveta**


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